About a week ago, I came home from work and my husband greeted me glumly.
“What’s the matter?” I asked him.
“I’m sick,” he said. “I feel awful.”
“I’m sorry,” I responded. “What do you think you have?”
“I know exactly what I have,” he said.
Instantly, his sad face transformed into a gleeful one as he announced, “It’s March Madness, baby!”
I fall for this every year.
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The other day, the phone in my office rang. It was my husband calling about what we should have for dinner.
Once that was resolved, he asked if I wanted to speak to our son, who was with him.
“Not right now,” I said, “But if I decide that I do want to talk to him, I’ll come downstairs and do it in person.”
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